WADING IN MAINE
I find myself where there is no sun
where I cannot breathe
where I feel
my time is brief.
I find myself alone
where memories roam
where the cracks in the trees
I walk, ma, I walk
where the trees smell
like your father’s house
like camp in the summertime,
like some where I’d rather be.
I find myself where no good souls live,
where now only pitch butterflies reside.
I curl together for sleep,
hoping, for tonight, I am hard to find.
I HAVE RELINQUISHED MY FREEDOMS UNDER FALSE CONFIDENCES …
they are all drunk outside, but I try my hardest to drown out their songs; once you are unlike yourself, they will like you. My eyes roll backward, my psalms unable to comfort me; my voice, forgets me.
I am drunk, they are all around me. The center of attention burns my skin when I touch it, but I simply cannot resist. They inquire employment inside of my mind through tapping specific parts of my body: the bone underneath my eye, the crease in the side of my pinky finger.
I relax, reclining atop a cloud over a meadow. I feel them slithering over my skin, making their way up, through my ears and nose to the tulip inside. So beautiful it frightens them, and all of their hard works drops from my eyes like gravity. They flee.
Atop a cloud over a meadow, I smile.
I realize something: I am lonely.
I awake, melancholy drying my mouth and starving my stomach. I see them now in every form they inhabit and I am not struck.
They were weak, but I proved the weaker. And that, was my most unwelcome ambition.
Victoria Kiarsis is a first-year student at Boston University studying Communications. She was born and raised in New York, but currently lives in Boston, Massachusetts.